The Lion's Might
by Thalion King's Daughter
Summary: Ambushed and without a way to send for aid, how can four hope to stand against forty?  With surrender not an option, two kings and two lords will put their abilities to the test as they fight back to back and side to side.  Who will triumph?
1. Back to Back

_Disclaimer: I own only Jaer, Jaerin, and Alman. The rest belong to whoever owns C. S. Lewis' rights. Shafelm belongs to electrum's imagination. She let me borrow it. The sword name that is, not her imagination.

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"Your plight is hopeless. You might as well surrender nicely and keep yourself in one piece."

Even though his face was masked, there was no mistaking the sneer in the man's voice. Jaer watched their ambusher impassively as the golden-haired man at his side arched one eyebrow.

"So certain are you?" Peter shifted his grip slightly on the silver shield across which a bright red lion ran free.

A short harsh laugh escaped the first man. "Come now, your majesty. Surely you must admit that even your legendary skill can only do so much? You are already tired, your blasted animal friends dead. There are but four of you and I have forty men at my command. Do you really think it wise to resist?"

"Numbers do not win a battle," King Peter answered dryly.

"No? But I bet they help." The masked bandit snapped back the second half of the quote that had become legendary among the Narnians.

"They do." The slight youth with a silver circlet in his dark hair spoke calmly. "But the strength of Aslan matters more." Jaer allowed a slight smile to flicker across his face at his king's words.

"It's quite sad really." Jaer glanced to his left at the tall lithe youth with a yew bow slung over his shoulder and a quiver of arrows at his back. Jaerin was grinning broadly. "Those with Aslan on their side can run against a troop, by Him they can leap over a wall. He is a shield to all who trust in Him. We have no fear of the outcome."

Snarling, the leader's hand shot out as though he would strike the grinning youth. In the blink of an eye, Jaer's hand caught the bandit's in a vise-like grip and twisted his arm back at unnatural angle. Startled eyes jumped to meet the impassive gaze of the young warrior.

"Strike not my brother, traitor," Jaer said. His tone was soft but girded with steel.

For a moment, panic filled the green eyes of the bandit but they hardened quickly. "And here I thought barehanded fighting was beneath you, Sir Jaer," he spat.

Jaer merely smiled.

"Let him go, Sir Jaer," King Peter said.

"As you wish, my king." The knight released his hold.

"Master Alman," King Edmund spoke with the authority of his crown and the solemnity of a judge, "two years ago we banished you from our court for your egregious offences against our subjects. You sought still to convert others to your ideology and we banished you from our kingdom. Three times you sought the life of our siblings and our friends. You claimed a changed heart and we pardoned you but kept the sentence of banishment upon you. You were never to return to Narnia again.

"Yet here today you stand within the borders of Narnia guilty of the death of our subjects and the attempt to waylay your kings and liege lords in the persons of myself, our royal brother, and these noble men, Sir Jaer and Jaerin Peridanson in whose service you once were. For this offence and your lack of repentance, I, Edmund, High Judge of Narnia, Knight of the Table, and King of Narnia do hereby sentence you to death with the witness of the High King and Jaer and Jaerin Peridanson. This sentence may be executed at any time from this moment on by any of these three loyal Narnians or myself."

"So be it." Three calm voices spoke as one the words with which each Narnian court closed. "By Aslan's name, let justice be wrought."

Jaer watched Alman clench his hands several times before the man managed to speak again. "Bold words, little king," he retorted. "You will need more than words to get out of this."

"Then let us be done with words!" Jaerin exclaimed. "You boast of your men, traitor—let us see if they are as good as you claim. Or do you wish to try your mettle against us yourself for once?"

In answer, Alman stepped back into the ranks of his men, blending into the crowd whose only distinction was in the color of their skin and the shape of their eyes. Jaer saw swarthy men of the south, fair northerners, and slant-eyed easterners among those assembled to kill. Who had killed the youth thought sadly of the centaur, fauns, and great cats who would never fight again.

"I'm not sure antagonizing him was such a good idea, Jaerin," King Edmund said dryly. "We really don't want him angrier than he already is."

Jaerin shrugged. "It matters little. Your words were enough to through him into a temper. He was already pointlessly furious." The youth paused a moment then through back his fair head and laughed joyously. "It is absurd, is it not? Here we stand, surrounded, outnumbered ten to one, and without the means to call for aid, yet we fear not. Rather, it is they that should fear." Jaerin waved at the silent horde. "They should fear."

"Such is the way of things when Aslan…"

"Ware arrows!" Jaer's urgent cry cut through King Peter's response. Four shields shot up and three men dropped down. The rain of arrows pattered harmlessly against polished metal.

"Is that the best you can do?" Jaerin taunted.

"Jaerin." Jaer looked at his younger brother disapprovingly. "I thought you wearied of words?"

"Oh. Right." Jaerin grinned sheepishly. "Deeds, not words. That's your motto, isn't it? Though there are times when I think you could use a few more words. Its not like Ariella can see your face you know."

Jaer's face turned bright red though his eyes never left the surrounding enemy. Why did Jaerin have to bring that up, he thought. King Peter laughed softly.

"I think he has you there, Jaer."

Jaer turned even redder. "There's no need to say so though," he muttered.

Peter laughed fully at that, a disconcerting sight to the ambushers. "Brother and friend, Sir Jaer. Brother and friend."

"They're coming," Edmund said softly and the mood sobered.

"Back-to-back and side-to-side?" Jaer said, stating the oft repeated mantra of their mutual teacher, General Orieus.

"How else should pairs of brothers fight?" Peter answered.

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_A/N—Hallo all! I know I really should be working on _Only Children_ but this popped into my head and wouldn't go away. Technically speaking, I should be working on a reflection paper for one of my classes but I haven't written any story for nearly a month and couldn't stand it any longer. Therefore, I present to you this short tale._

_Three cheers to the person to correctly identify the purloined Bible verse. It is slightly altered, but you might be able to recognize it._

_This story is set about a year after _The Dream Dasher_, hence the brief mention of Ariella. Peter is therefore 22, Edmund 19, Jaer 20, and Jaerin 18. Do let me know what you think!_


	2. Side to Side

_Disclaimer: Only Jaer, Jaerin, Alman, and the plot belong to me. The country and other characters do not.

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_With a metallic hiss, three swords left their sheaths and four young men settled in to meet an enemy ten times their number. Yet there was no fear on the faces of the four so surrounded. Rather, a calm assurance that all would be well resided in their features.

"Here, hold this." Jaerin passed his shield to Jaer and flicked two arrows from his quiver. "Let's see what they think of this."

The two arrows sped from the string, one striking a man full in the throat and the other glancing off another's shoulder. Three more pairs followed the first, and then the enemy was upon them. For the briefest moment, Jaer guarded his brother from attacks and then the younger youth had his shield on his arm and his sword in his hand. Back-to-back and side-to-side the two pairs of brothers fought; a deadly square against which the hordes hurled themselves in vain. Long minutes passed in which the only sounds in the clearing were the grunts of men and the clash of steel. The masked bandits attacked and retreated attempting to pull the four apart, tempting them with false openings. All in vain. Each of the four knew that to be separated would be to be weakened and to be weakened was to invite failure. They held their ground.

In the eyes of High King Peter, a steady fire burned, a slight smile curled the edges of his lips. He knew his skill and that of his companions and trusted them to guard his back. Ice cold were the depths of King Edmund's eyes, deadly the look on his face. His land needed him and his brother and they would not fail her. Many quailed at the mere sight of the two kings together—and they were not yet exerting their full skill. Fire and ice, polar opposites yet here merged together into a single whole, deadly in its beauty.

Jaer fought with controlled precision, blocking each stroke and delivering the return blow with perfect accuracy. His face was expressionless, a mask of indifference that belied the sorrow he felt with each blow he dealt. But what must be done, can be done, he reminded himself constantly, even if that did not make the doing any easier. For his part, Jaerin grinned broadly and laughed in the face of his enemies, enjoying every moment of the battle. These men sought to kill his brother and his kings; he felt no sorrow at the deaths of those who would attempt such a thing. Joy and sorrow, two sides of the same coin, inseperable but each making the other all the stronger.

When some ten of their number lay dead or dying on the ground around the knights and another dozen more had injuries they would not soon forget, a harsh trumpet call sounded and the bandits retreated to the edge of the trees. This time, they took up posts inside the trunks so that Jaerin could not use his bow against them.

"Well now, that was interesting," Peter said lightly, wiping the sweat from his brow. Jaer smiled grimly and shoved his brown hair back from his face.

"No!" Jaerin cried out and suddenly dove to the ground. The other three whirled around, leaving their backs unprotected for the barest moment. The two kings turned back around just as quickly, fully alert for a renewed attack. Jaer knelt beside his brother, wondering what was wrong.

"What is it, Jaerin?" Edmund asked in a tight voice. "Art wounded?"

"No. They broke my bow! My best bow!" Jaerin said, gathering up the broken pieces of wood. Jaer groaned and stood up, wondering why his brother tended to be so dramatic.

"All that fuss for a bow?" Peter questioned.

"It was my favorite," Jaerin protested indignantly. "It wouldn't be that different from Edmund losing Shafelm or you Rhindon. It will be a long time before I'm able to make another like it."

"Oh."

"Have you had enough?" Alman's mocking voice rang out from the safety of the trees. "Do you yield?"

"Yield?" Edmund called back. "I think you will find that we have not yet begun to fight!"

"Then you will meet your doom!"

"Edmund to my right, Jaerin at his back. Jaer you cover me," Peter commanded quietly. "They'll not let up this time. Drive always to the north and the beach where we landed. We may yet be able to get off in one the boats."

"If they didn't scuttle them," Jaerin muttered. "No holds barred?"

"Not yet. Let them not know what they're up against. When I give the signal, then," a feral grin spread across Peter's face, "then we shall show them the Lion's Might."

Jaer reached up to loosen his massive, two-handed sword in its sheath that hung between his shoulders. "We follow your lead, High King."

"So be it. Do not let them separate us. For Narnia, and for Aslan!"

With the High King leading the battle charge, the four barreled headlong into their approaching foes. Startled by the onslaught, the bandits gave way before their furious attack. But not for long. Alman seemed to have expected something of this sort and rallied his men quickly, blocking their escape. Swords and shields alike became weapons for the beleaguered foursome. Feet, knees, and elbows came into play as well as each youth dropped all pretence and brought their full skill into play. Man after man charged down on them, heedless of the swirling swords that meant death. Slowly they were driven back to the center of the glade.

"This is getting ridiculous," Jaer muttered between clenched teeth.

"My thoughts exactly," Jaerin answered. "When will the signal come?"

Almost before Jaerin finished speaking, Jaer felt Peter tense at his back. "Now!" the High King roared. "The Lion!"

"The Lion!" echoed the others with mighty shouts.

Four shields swung out, bashing men in the face and head, clearing a circle around them. Two shields continued their path flying out into the banditti as Jaer and Edmund flung them away. Jaer and Jaerin spun around each other, trading places at the same time as the kings. As he passed Edmund, Jaer passed his sword into the king's free hand and then ripped his centaur sword from its sheath. Spinning back again, Jaer saw with relief that Jaerin had his knife in his shield hand and that he was laughing again. So long as Jaerin could laugh, all was well.

If attempted by any other, the move would have resulted in death and disaster for those who attempted to trade swords in the midst of a battle. But for these four who had fought and trained together for years, each member of the square was like an extension of themselves; they knew their fighting style as well as their own and trusted them implicitly. And so the transfer was made with ease and the tide of battle shifted.

Like the crashing waves of a massive storm, the bandits crashed against the knights. Like the rocky shoreline, the knights did not yield. Unlike the unmoving rocks, the four pressed forward, ever deeper into their foes. One warrior with flaming eyes fought with sword and shield and mind, directing the few in their relentless attack of the many. His brother warrior with the icy glare wielded twin swords, a whirlwind of destruction in the midst of their foes. Beside these two, laughter echoed from the youngest warrior, a shield and knife in one hand and a shining sword in the other. The fourth warrior was a picture of calm yet even he was not unaffected by the rush of battle. A fierce light gleamed in his eyes as he swung his massive sword with steadfast assurance.

The minutes ticked by and the press of the enemy thinned. In vain, Alman shouted for his men to stand firm, crying out that there were only four to fight against a score. Only a few listened as the four warriors seemed to turn into forty. Fear gripped the bandits and they turned to flee. Seeing his men desert him and what had appeared to be an easy victory turned into a rout, the traitor screamed his defiance once more and then turned to follow his fleeing fellows.

Jaer saw him. "Alman's fleeing!" the youth yelled above the din of battle. The others heard.

"He'll not escape this time," Edmund growled, leaping in the direction of the miscreant's voice.

The others followed and within seconds, Peter, Edmund, Jaer, and Jaerin burst from what remained of their foes and sprinted after the fleeing man. Alman tried to outdistance them and he might have succeeded but in his fear, he glanced over his shoulder, missed his footing, and fell headfirst to the ground. Before he could move again, Rhindon was at the base of his neck.

"You move, you die," hissed the High King. Alman lay still.

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_A/N—What do you think? Three cheers for those who can identify the historical quote. I couldn't resist using it. It just fit. The final piece should be up within a week._

_The cheers from the previous chapter go to _The Lost King, _anonomous reviewer, for correctly identifying Jaerin's defiance of Alman as II Samuel 22:30-31 which reads in full--_

_30 For by You I can run against a troop;  
By my God I can leap over a wall._

_31 As for God, His way is perfect;  
The word of the LORD is proven;  
He is a shield to all who trust in Him._

Also thanks to Lady Rosebud_, my other anonomous reviewer._


	3. Brothers in Battle

"Let us to the boat," Edmund said, glancing warily at the trees. "Though I think that our enemy is vanquished, I do not wish to remain here any longer."

"Nor I. Comrades, will you disarm him?" Peter nodded at Jaer and Jaerin.

Both stepped quickly forward to do their king's bidding. Jaer knelt down and took Alman's sword and then began searching the man for hidden weapons

"Odd. I didn't notice that before."

Jaer looked up sharply at his brother's vacant tone. The younger youth had only taken one step and now stood staring down at his leg. A large gash was cut through his leather boot and crimson line stretched across his exposed calf. Blood trickled across his boot and to the trampled grass. Jaerin smiled weakly and then his eyes went blank.

Hissing sharply, Jaer flung Alman's weapons aside and leaped to catch his brother before he collapsed. Edmund caught Jaerin's other side and helped him ease the fair-haired youth to the ground.

"He breathes still," Jaer said softly. "He must suffer from loss of blood."

"All the more need to get swiftly back to the Cair," Peter said.

"Do you need help?" Edmund asked as Jaer slid his arms under his brother.

Jaer shook his head. "No," he lifted Jaerin up and cradled his head against his shoulder, "I can carry him."

Edmund nodded and turned away. "Get up," he snapped at Alman, accompanying the order with a jerk to the bandit's arm. Alman needed no further persuasion.

As Peter escorted the prisoner at sword point and Edmund gathered their shields together again, Jaer walked silently through the trees. Ever wary for a stray bandit who might have stayed for a secret shot, he scanned the woods carefully in every direction. But his eyes always moved back to his brother's still face. This was not the first battle in which the Peridanson brothers had fought side-by-side but it was the first in which one had been seriously wounded. Jaer could feel the warm wetness of his brother's blood staining his own tunic and gritted his teeth. This was why he wanted Jaerin to be an archer and not a swordsman in the armies. The archers were supposed to stay back, out of the press of battle, and only engage in hand-to-hand combat if necessary. But Jaerin loved the thrill of a swordfight too much to stay back and always managed to find his way to Jaer's side, no matter how thick the press. Even to himself, Jaer had to admit that he liked fighting with his brother at his side. He did not like it when the younger youth was wounded.

The instant he broke free from the trees, Jaer lengthened his stride. Though no healer, he knew enough about treating battle wounds to help. In the small boat in which they came to shore, there were bandages and ointments for injuries. He would use those to bind the wound and keep it from further bleeding until they got back to the Cair and the healers there.

"Hold here, Jaer. I can run faster than you." Edmund's voice startled Jaer out of his thoughts.

"The risk is too great. We need to stay together," Jaer managed to protest though he longed to accept the king's offer.

"There is more risk to your brother's life. If there is aught amiss I can hold on until you arrive."

"Thank you." The gratefulness that Jaer felt shone in his worried eyes.

Edmund nodded and sped across the sandy beach, darting behind the sand dunes toward their boat. Jaer sank slowly to the ground. The weariness of battle was creeping up on him and Jaerin's dead weight was hard to bear. Worriedly, he brushed a piece of hair away from Jaerin's face.

"Not so brave now, are you little lordling." Alman sneered. "I hope he dies. He never liked me anyway."

Clear eyes turned stormy as Jaer's gaze jerked to meet Alman's. "Watch your tongue traitor. You risk your life with each insolent word you speak." Alman's mount shut with a snap and Peter's opened but Jaer cut him off. "You needn't say anything, Peter. You feel the same way every time Edmund is injured."

Peter grimaced. "Right." Blue eyes flicked toward the dunes. "I hope he doesn't run into anyone."

"I can take care of myself, Peter." Edmund's welcome voice was breathless as he ran toward the waiting warriors. "Here," the younger king said as he dropped to the ground beside Jaerin. "I found these. And some cordial. Not Lucy's but it should help."

"Thanks."

Jaer shifted his unconscious brother out of his lap and to the ground. Gingerly he pulled off the ruined boot, wincing at the sight of the deep gash in Jaerin's leg. The wound seemed to reach to the bone. Quickly, Jaer wrapped the bandages around the younger boy's leg and wiped away the worst of the blood. Edmund poured a trickle of the cordial down Jaerin's throat.

"That should do for the moment." The dark-haired youth stood and dusted off his hands. "Now," cool brown eyes turned to stone, "we deal with you. Here and now or at the Cair?" Solemn eyes flicked to the High King.

"Here and now. The sentence is just. Here are the witnesses. To take him to the Cair would but delay the inevitable." One hand shifted to Rhindon's hilt.

"Agreed. Kneel Alman."

Only then did the hard façade tremble. Alman tried to keep his feet under him but the strength of the High King's arm and sheer terror made his knees collapse under him.

"Please, your majesties, please, I beg you. Don't kill me! I'll do anything you ask, anything! Just don't kill me. I couldn't bear it." Fear radiated off of the cringing man in waves and all three conscious men stared at him in shock. "Please. Don't kill me." Tears leaked out of Alman's eyes.

Jaer's eyes narrowed and he looked up at the two kings. Both young men seemed slightly taken aback but hid it well.

"Why should we pardon you again?" Peter asked after a long silence. "You have betrayed our trust many more times than we should care to count."

"This time will be different, I swear it! I'll do anything you ask of me. Just let me live."

Brown eyes met blue in a silent look of understanding and meaning and then Peter looked back at the cringing man. "Our sentence stands."

In a split second, Alman's face changed. A snarl replaced the fear and pure hatred flashed from his eyes. "Blast you! You measly little kings think you can condemn me? I'll show you!"

Silver flashed in the light of the setting sun and something crashed into Jaer. Snarling like a dumb beast, Alman shoved Peter away from him and charged toward the trees. Three steps later, a scream rent the air and the traitor collapsed to the ground and lay still.

Jaer stared at the still form of the man who had once tried to assassinate his father and sister in silence. Peter walked over and pulled a small knife from where it was imbedded in the base of his skull. Jaer shuddered and looked away. Only then did he realize that the weight on top of him was that of a body. The body of King Edmund.

"Edmund!" Jaer jerked out from underneath the king.

"Oof. Seriously, Jaer, did you have to move that fast?" Edmund pushed himself off the ground. "I was about to get off you."

Relief washed over Jaer like a flood. "You're alive?"

"Of course. I'm not that careless. You almost weren't. He threw that." Edmund nodded to a small knife buried in the sand.

"Oh. Thank you."

Edmund nodded and stood. "Is he dead, Peter?"

"Quite." The golden-haired king glanced briefly over his shoulder. "It is sad, but I am glad it happened that way. Traitor thrice proved though he was, it went against my heart to kill a man in cold blood."

"Mine as well," Edmund said. "Let us be gone from this tainted place. I like it not and Jaerin is in need of better care." The Just King nodded to Jaer as he picked his brother up again, staggering slightly as his muscles protested.

"Right." Rhindon slid into its sheath with a metallic hiss and a soft snap. The two kings gathered up the remaining weapons and the Peridanson brothers' shields and strode down the beach in Jaer's wake. Not many minutes later, they reached the two boats and placed their burdens inside one. Tired muscles strained as the three pushed the boat out into the water and scrambled in. Edmund took the helm while Peter and Jaer manned the oars. Soon, the sandy shore was far behind and the three slowly relaxed.

"Well now," Peter said, shattering the silence like a stone in a still pond. "That was far more of an adventure than we bargained for."

One dark eyebrow arched. "Indeed. That is one way of putting it."

"At least we no longer need fear Alman," Jaer said as he shoved an errant lock of hair from his face. "Since his last attempt on us, we have been rather edgy. I just wish…" Jaer trailed off and looked to his brother.

At that moment, Jaerin stirred and opened his eyes. The oars stilled. Blinking several times in confusion, Jaerin shoved himself upright.

"Oh. Hullo. How'd we get here?" The other three just stared at him. "What?" Jaerin said.

A crushing embrace was his only answer as Jaer dropped the oar. Jaerin gulped in surprise but returned the hug cordially. After Jaer released him, the younger knight glanced down at his bandaged leg in confusion.

"I say." He looked up. "Did I miss something?"

Laughter answered him and it was to that joyous sound that the two pairs of brothers, one pair kings, one lords, both friends and knights, rowed off to their home. The past was sorrowful and the future would bring more trials, but for now, all was well. By the Lion's might, they had prevailed.

THE END

_A/N—There. I've finally managed to write a short story. The story really wasn't happy with that idea but I made it do what I wanted. I have every intention of allowing you to have a better understanding of Alman's misdeeds eventually. I just have to get to them first._

_I'm dreadfully sorry that this chapter is more than a week late. I didn't have the internet access to post it when I thought I would and then with Christmas and all, I never got around to it. I beg your forgiveness._

Those that recognized the quote by John Paul Jones "I have not yet begun to fight" in some form or fashion and noted it in their reviews include the1hobbit, lightsabermaster _and_ JackGirl. Starsy Skye_ and _lightsabermaster _also belatedly found the Bible verse from chapter 1._

_Thanks for reading and reviewing!_


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